Welcome to Resistance
by DogWorks
Summary: We Resist was its first name. Quick overveiw in the first chapter. Different characters different story line from the Host. Only took an idea from the Host so if you're looking for a Host fanfic it isnt really here. T 4 Language and violence
1. Poor Shlomi

**_Welcome to Resistance is about a group of about 20 people who fight the Nazis during WW2. It is history, romance, tragic, drama, crime, suspense, adventure and hurt comfort but I just put it as drama and suspense. This chapter is going to introduce some of the characters. It will take a while to actually come to the action part so please wait patiently. I have a life you know._**

**_This is not a true story (fanfiction) and isn't based on fact, the dates are made up and so are the characters. Leave a bone? Pwease? Ok, on with the story, ruff! O right and this is an update, if you read it before, his name was Jacob but Jakob is the German way it is written so that's why I changed it. Chapter 4 will be in a few days, or weeks (depends), time. Btw if I we get to 20 reviews the 20th reviewer will be mentioned in my story! Start reviewing! Enough talk, let's go!_**

Jakob's POV

1941

These are rough times. It's almost autumn, and Henree, Stefan, Daniel and I will be off to St. Petersburg and then to shelter. I, personally, do not know where this shelter is, or if it exists, but, what can I say? I just trust Uncle Avraham.

Frankfurt drastically changed since Hitler rose to power. From all I ever knew – my country, my home - to a strange, violent place – my friends, teachers and everyone I've ever known suddenly started to spit at my feet, swear at me and call me names – how can someone be so hostile, so mean? Those hateful Germans, with their petty ideals – they didn't mean a thing. I was more "Aryan" than over half of the children at my school – I _had_ light colored hair! I _was_ athletic!

It didn't really matter to me - you get used to it. I never was popular at school, sticking to a certain crowd; only one friend had lasted after Hitler rose to power and started to brainwash Germany.

That one friend was Shlomo – I called him Shlomi- and, he too, was Jewish. He was tall and lean, with curly black hair and thick, dark eyebrows that almost completely covered his bright green eyes.

Those eyes had always hinted a sense of trouble, except the day he heard about the letter. We all knew what that meant. That day, the day he told me they were being deported, is a day I will never forget. It was 1935, we were both thirteen then.

"Shalom Jake," he said gravely, his shoulders slumped.

"Shlomi, what happened?" Shlomi was never grave.

"Mother got a letter from Berlin," he said, but didn't continue. He looked like he was in pain.

"What did it say?" I urged, a strange feeling creeping up inside me.

"Mother and Erik are being deported to Auschwitz," his sentence broke off on Erik, his baby brother; Erik, the little boy with brown hair and dimples. I saw his tears welling up in his eyes and glisten in the afternoon sun.

"No," it wasn't an argument; it was a weak, defeated sigh. I closed my eyes and tried not to cry. Erik wasn't just Shlomi's little brother, he was like my little brother too, not physically blood and bone, but a brother nonetheless. Shlomi was my best friend then, so we were like extended family.

I reopened my eyes. Shlomi looked like a limp scarecrow; head bowed, eyes closed and clothes that were way to big on him made him look sickly thin. I put my hands on his shoulders, trying to give him some support – show him I was there for him, but he seemed in too much emotional pain to notice me. I took a step back, hands still on his shoulders, and told him as firmly as I could possibly muster, "They'll be alright, I promise you that. They will."

That promise was broken before I had even finished that sentence.

"How can you possibly know? Erik is only six; they will immediately go to the gas chambers!"

I rolled my eyes; the gas chambers were, of course, true, but nobody at the time really believed that there was such a thing.

"Ok look. Maybe they won't be as safe as they are at home with you and your Pa, but they can surely take care of themselves, at least your mother can."

That was the stupidest thing I had ever said because Shlomi's life depended on it, of course, I didn't know that at the time either.

A glint of hope mixed with what looked like fear flickered into my friend's eyes as soon as the sentence was out of my mouth.

"That's it!" He exclaimed and threw his hands up in triumph, all signs of pain ceased. Poor Shlomi, if only he didn't think of that stupid plan. That plan cost him his life.

"What did I say?" I asked warily. Depend on Shlomi to have a plan at hand.

"I can take good care of them. All those times Pa was at the hospital…" He was already running down the street and across the road to his house, the sun setting behind him.

"Goodbye Shlomi!" Then I mumbled, "take care." If only I stopped him then, demanded to know what he will do.

Poor Shlomi.

**_Sorry for closing the story there it's just that I thought it was good to close it there. Did you like it? Review so I'll know to keep on writing! Oh and Daniel, Henree, Avraham and Stefan are going to be mentioned later in the story and I'll think about mentioning other characters from the Host or Defiance. Like I said before, could you pwease leave a bone? Ruff?_**


	2. Can't Believe He'd Be So

**_O.K. If you find this confusing I'll just explain. 1941 is the year he is writing this (not a true story) but he is talking about Shlomi and him so it is the day after Shlomi told him about his mother and Erik being deported. Great! Now that's cleared up_****_ I'll say, pwease read and review. Leave the poor dog a bone!_**

**1941**

**Jacob POV**

The next day I didn't see Shlomi anywhere. Not in school, not in the streets and not on the railway line, places where he was usually found.

So, after I couldn't find him anywhere, not even at the local café (a very bad idea to loiter there, I almost had gotten my teeth kicked in if one of the diners there hadn't brought his youngest daughter), I ran down the street to Shlomi's house and rapped my knuckles on the expensive oak. Without opening the door, a familiar voice asked, "Who is it?"

"Rita, this is Jakob, Shlomi's friend." I answered, my hand resting on the door's threshold.

The door opened and behind it stood a small, mousy lady wearing a floral, red and green apron, Shlomi's looks came from his father, Yoram.

"Shalom Jakob," Rita welcomed, with a hesitant smile, behind the large, heavy oak-wood door.

"Shalom," I greeted politely, kissed the golden-trimmed mezuzah and then asked, "Where is Shlomi?"

Her light brown eyebrows curved into a small frown, "Upstairs, I think. He said he was sick so I didn't send him to school today. Boy, he does look sick, but never before did he look so… excited," her voice trailed off there, then said "I'm going to make some soup for him. Would you like some too?" I politely shook my head and headed for the stairs.

"Alright; and Jakob?" I stopped on the landing and waited. "Could you check on him for me?" I nodded, "Thank you," she cupped my face with one hand "you're a good kid, Jakob, don't let them ruin your life."

"I'll be in the kitchen," she wiped her hands on her apron and hurried off to the kitchen. As I said, we were like extended family.

I went upstairs and knocked on Shlomi's door.

"Ma, I don't want you coming here!" he exclaimed absentmindedly.

"It's me, Jakob," I told him.

"Oh. Hi Jakob! Come on in!" A click was heard from the inside, signaling me to come in. I opened the door, kissed the mezuzah and entered his small and musky room.

The room was in its, more or less, normal state, if you call messy, normal. The only differences were that his school books were on the bed (we both had a habit of stacking all our books on our desks), his football, his most prized possession, was kicked in one corner of the room, which wasn't right - it was supposed to be next to the bedpost - and the fact that there was a growing pile of paper balls in the corner of the room, next to the bin. It looked like Shlomi was trying to dunk the tiny paper balls into the bin but kept on missing.

I immediately understood. How could I be such an idiot? Of course he would do it, he was Shlomi and, come to think about it, even I would do it. My brown eyes grew wide. Even though I knew what he was going to do, or worse, already did, I asked him anyway.

"What are you doing?"

"Writing a letter," he answered nonchalantly.

"To who? Henrietta?" I scoffed heedlessly. How I wish it was true. That he will be writing to a German girl he fancies. But of course that was not the case.

"No, I'm not writing to her, she hates me, well all of _us_. I'm writing to Berlin saying that-"

"You're going with Erik and Rita," I concluded, horrified, and then immediately started to plead, "don't do it Shlomi, don't kill yourself. You will die, you know that, right?" he snorted; I bet he thought Rita, Erik, under his care, won't die. I couldn't believe he could be so naïve, so futile, so obtuse, so, "stupid. That's what you are. Stupid." That's when he started to argue.

"I'm not being stupid, Jakob, I'm being smart. Only an inane person will just stand there when their family is being lined up for death. I'm not going to watch them leave and never come back. I have to do _something_. We are family. We stick together, even if it's the last thing we'll ever do. David can take care of father, while I take care of my Ma and of Erik." David was Shlomi's younger brother. David was eleven years old and was my brother's best friend. He had dark green eyes and light brown, schoolboy style hair; David was the mixed child of the family.

"Would you let your family get killed and not try to help them?"

"It's not the same-"

"Don't you tell me it's not the same thing, Jakob!" he interrupted heatedly," My family is in danger. I'm going and you're not going to stop me!"

"Look Shlomi, you need a break. Calm down, alright? Be reasonable. If you go with them…" I paused when I saw my hand trembling. Dammit! I took another breath, calmed myself down, and continued talking.

"I'm sure your parents would prefer it if you lived. If you go with them it will just be one more mouth to feed and then all three of you will die."

"I will work for food," he said in a small voice but I kept on going.

"I'm sure both of your parents want you to survive, need you to survive," I wanted to make sure he calmed down a bit before I added quietly, "Maybe Erik won't, but you'll only starve yourself if you go with them. Don't throw yourself under that bus, Shlomo."

When I mentioned Erik, his body, already in a defensive position, tensed up. He looked like he would love to beat me up. But, being one of the strongest boys in our grade, I wasn't all that worried about getting hurt. Say, I could have probably been able to lift him over my head.

"Don't tell me about what my parents want Jakob," he was too livid about me mentioning Erik to say anything, his bright green eyes sparkled with anger.

"Just saying, Shlomi. Don't kill yourself. Please, if not for your parents then for Erik,"

"Erik has nothing to do with this. I can and will take care of him, if it is the last thing I'll ever do." He just didn't want to leave them alone, he'd even feed himself lies to keep on going. I could just imagine what he was thinking then. _We will be alright, we will be alright, we will be just fine._ How wrong he was. He was leading himself astray, misguiding himself.

Shlomi looked half crazed; his eyes not processing what's in front of them, his hands shaking in anger, his tense body in conflict with itself. He wore ragged clothes, the clothes he'd worn the day before, old patches of sweat underneath his armpits. A dirty shirt, gray jogging pants and a scarf, was all he seemed to have at the moment. For a second I thought Rita was right, her son did look sick; very sick. His mental state affected his unkempt appearance. He looked like a rabid dog.

I couldn't believe this would be the last time I'll ever see him, so I shook my head. And he misunderstood me. From my actions he wrongly deduced that I thought he couldn't handle taking care of Erik. He lunged towards me, knees bent, head up, hips low, he tackled me cleanly, swiping my legs from under me.

When we were down, he restrained me by putting his thighs against my sides and began throwing punches blindly. I pushed him sideways and clutched his shirt to pull us both up.

When we were both up, I smashed his back against the wall and eyed him carefully, hands still clutching his shirt.

"I didn't mean that. Of course you can take care of him. I just didn't want this to be the last time I'll see you. I can't make you do something you don't want to but I can make you think about it. When you want something you stick to it – you'll even fight me just to prove me wrong. At least I have a fair chance of knocking some sense-"

I was broken off by Rita; she was firmly gripping my ear with one hand and pulling the back of my shirt collar with the other. I loosened my grip on Shlomi's shirt. Shlomi dropped down; I didn't even notice his feet leaving the floor, or the freshly new bruises appearing on his collarbone.

Rita's mousy appearance could've fooled anyone but she was just as tough as Shlomi - maybe even tougher. She started to hurl me out of the room. An intoxicating smell of soup was drifting from the kitchen and was much nicer to breathe in than Shlomi's sweaty room. Of course that was not where we were going.

"No fighting in my house! Out!" She led me towards the front door, manhandling me as if I was some wayward puppy, making me stumble down the stairs.

"Ouch! I tried to…Ow! Talk some… sense…" I briefly saw David's face staring at me in awe before Rita slammed the door in my face. "Into him." I knocked on the door, once, twice.

When no one answered I shouted, "ponder it over, okay! And eat something!" Then I started to stagger towards my house. Before I did though, I could swear I thought I heard a small sigh say, "Fine."

**_So? What didja think? this one is much more longer because I'm writing the story and then stop at parts where I think it is relevant. Pwease read and review. Leave the poor dog a bone! Chicken or steak? You decide._**


	3. To Keep Him Strong

_**I'm sooo sorry for not updating sooner, just schoolwork and all that. I'll try to update as soon as I can. O.k. I checked the names for a last name for Jacob and Daniel and can't find any. Can you help? Just write in the reviews something like last name:_ Could you please? Oh btw I'm changing Jacob's name into Jakob it is more commonly spelt that way, then, in German. O right and this is an update, if you read it before, his name was Jacob but Jakob is the German way it is written so that's why I changed him. Chapter 4 will be in a few days, or weeks (depends), time. Btw if I we get to 20 reviews the 20th reviewer will be mentioned in my story! Start reviewing!**_

Chapter Three

Jakob's POV

1941

_Verse 13:11 "When I was a child, I spoke like a child, thought like a child and reasoned like a child. When I became a man, I gave up my childish ways."_ In roughly twenty minutes, Daniel and I are going to head towards the local market. That's where we agreed to meet Stefan and Henree.

August is here and the leaves are falling in orange, red and brown swirls, dust escaping in their midst. The cobbled streets are huddled together, their rooftops arching forward, as if to cover the city from sunlight. Frankfurt is all to ourselves, we can take whatever we like, just like the Germans took everything from us. Us, as in Daniel and I. Henree and Stefan, well - they just make me; wary.

We met them when Daniel was stupid enough to leave his Star of David necklace over his coat. Before he could shove underneath his shirt collar, two men and a German Shepherd stepped forward, blocking Daniel's way. Easily passing my height by at least a head and almost twice my size, the first man was a formidable foe. The second man was around my height, with soft light brown hair and dazzling bright blue eyes, he seemed a little queer, with an aloof demeanor; as if he didn't quite care where he was standing. The taller one leaned forward until his head was my height and then recited quietly, almost in a whisper, _" __Barukh atah Adonai Eloheinu melekh ha'olam, asher kideshanu bemitzvotav vetzivanu likboa' mezuzah_1_," _then said very quietly, "We know both of your names – you are Daniel and Jakob.

I instantly panicked, _how did they know that we were Jews? How did they know our names? How did I let this happen? _I grabbed Daniel's hand and tugged him the other way towards a darkened alleyway. They both immediately came running behind us, their dog in tow, and the first then said, "No, you don't understand," hands out forward, showing us that he was unarmed anon started to explain, "We heard of Tuvia, Zus and Asael Bielski and of your uncle, Avraham. Please let us prove to you that we mean you no harm."

To prove what he meant, he pushed me to the main square, right before I punched him square in the face though, a German soldier came up to us and commanded harshly, "Papers." Ugh, great. I snatched the stolen identity papers from Daniel's hands and shoved it to up the German's face, quite hard too; I hoped it hurt him.

"Watch it!" he spat. I waited impatiently for him to finish, _get going, get going,_ I kept telling myself. I wasn't even scared though, no one around here knew we were both Jewish, and I could've stabbed the German if he was too curious, then hide the body. I kept my impatient role, though, maybe then he'll think we were actually just "normal" citizens, nothing to worry about, let alone shoot at.

But then, he frowned and called two more soldiers to join him. Great, I saw Daniel stiffen and wished that I could somehow tell him to act calm. _As_ _long as they don't recognize us, we'll be fine_. I could still hear the men who followed us breathing deeply. They betrayed no emotion, both standing far enough to seem inconspicuous. Oh how much I wanted to beat up the man who shoved us, give him a bloody nose and a broken arm. But no matter how many punches I'd throw, he will win. He's a true beast.

Those two soldiers were just as mean as the first and they, too, looked at the papers and frowned. One even took out a small bottle of what smelled like whisky and took a sip, his bright eyes still peeled on our papers. "This is telling us your names are Max and Katrina Baum," he pointed his gun at us and said, "Move."

That was when I began to panic. _Godamnit__! _But then, as if he fell out of the sky, sent by God, the smaller man chuckled and raised his palm.

"Lukas, you fool!" he mused, his voice soft and quiet, but influential – this man could change the minds of millions if he'd only had been given the chance, "you said you checked the papers before we left the house!" Then as if he suddenly noticed the soldier, he said, almost apologetically, "Wir_ sind sehr traurig, lassen uns die wirklichen Papiere erhalten__2_!"

The soldiers were a bit afraid of the man's much larger companion, but, after hearing his enticing voice and sensing his charisma, they laughed and one of the three replied, "Lass uns gehen3. What a fool! Mixed his papers with his mother's!" They laughed at Daniel all the way back to their positions.

Daniel cussed at the Nazis under his breath, then sighed gratefully and said, "Thank you, you have no idea how much we owe you both. What can we do for you?" The smaller man abruptly erased that gullible, jeering grin off his face, paused, and scratched the shepherd's fur behind its ears.

"Just get us out to your Uncle's secret base; that's all we want." He calmly replied. I shot Daniel an exasperated look.

He just shrugged and whispered to me, "they saved our backs back there, we owe them this much."

"They are the ones who put us at risk in the first place!" I hissed, but Daniel didn't seem to hear me.

From then on we became allies, no matter how suspicious I was of them, I couldn't just leave Daniel alone with them. Since what happened to our father and mother, I didn't want us to separate, ever.

The smaller man told us his name was Stefan and shook both our hands. He introduced us to his companion, Henree, and Henree's dog, Bruno and began to tell us where they were from.

He told us that he was a Polish soldier who had met Henree in Paris, the same month when the Germans began to attack France. Stefan was an experienced soldier from before the war and that was the reason he was sent to France in the first place. Stefan mentioned that he and Henree fled from the battle in fear for their lives, in search for a place to hide until the war ended, and found themselves hearing stories about our uncle Avraham and his retaliation group up north in Russia.

His sparkling eyes were completely hypnotizing, making him all the more persuasive. They seemed to look like two, pure, zircon gemstones. When I told him what his eyes reminded me of, he quoted; "Zircon provides the wearer with wisdom, honor and riches," and with a, "I guess that doesn't apply to me, ehh?" his laughter broke out and echoed down the alley we were walking in. I begged him to stop. We must had surely draw attention to ourselves.

He was wrong; if a colour of a gemstone could provide you with anything good, then it brought Stefan the ability to know if anyone was lying to him. And that was something.

Henree was a very muscular man, and owned a big golden shepherd with black streaks. His face sported a pretty sharp nose, but if examined upon carefully, it was absolutely obvious that his nose was broken at least once or twice throughout his lifetime. He looks like a he used to be an illegal fighter back in the day butdidn't say anything about his past except what made Stefan and himself come up to Germany. He had cropped salt and pepper hair and sharp cheek bones, housing slanted, dark brown, eyes – almost like an oriental foreigner. Henree had a faint French accent but with a bit of Russian twist into it too.

Was he Russian? Or was he actually telling the truth? I didn't trust anyone, especially people I had just met, but there was something trustworthy about both of them; something that made me agree to their plans, something that made Daniel trust them. I hope to God they won't betray us.

Thinking of God, I was just reading a Bible that I found in the place we were staying in. I should think of a better word than staying. Using. Yes, using, because breaking into an apartment to use the shower, steal some food and clothes is not called staying.

Back to the Bible, verse 13:11 reminded me that I haven't finished Shlomi's story. Fine then, back to October, 1935, right after the fight.

I entered the house and let the door close itself shut after kissing the mezuzah, then called to anyone within hearing range, "Shalom, I'm here!" I'd stopped saying "I'm home" since hate began churning up around us.

I passed the hall and took my shoes off before entering the living room. The living room opened up to the kitchen, so that only a counter blocked the way to the oven, fridge and the wooden dining table. My little brother, Daniel, was lying on the carpet. Stomach flat on the carpeted floor, with elbows propped up, he was listening to father tell him stories of the Great War. Father was seated in his usual leather armchair, which was next to the old and wooden fireplace. Of course it was unlit, as it always was these days. Father was telling one story that I knew off by heart, when I came in the room.

"There you are Jakob," my father said in his deep voice, his watchful brown eyes resting on me. His genes made him appear to be thin, but he really wasn't. His body was muscular and in shape, his skin fairly pale.

He used to be an athletic man, my father, but because of a stray bullet that he caught in the leg, Father had been using crutches ever since. He had started to get better at walking and could even jog once in a while, but his doctor warned him not to put too much weight on his leg, in fear of amputation.

Once, when the doctor said that he should stretch his muscles a bit, my father cross-country skied with me in Switzerland and beat me to every checkpoint we crossed. Like I said, my father was a very athletic man.

My father was an intelligent man, and since he has been all around Europe he knew six different languages – German, French, Russian, Norwegian, English and Polish and was capable of understanding three more – Swedish, Danish and Dutch.

My father had taught me to speak French, Polish and some English, and had taught Daniel Norwegian, English and Russian. Daniel was the more perceptive son, being able to perfect all of the languages our father taught him, unlike myself. Of course, since we were German, our mother tongue was German as well.

"Shalom, son," he greeted and I went over to hug him. He clapped me on the back and then held my head with his calloused hands, observant.

Touching right beneath my left eye he asked in his familiar, rich voice, "What happened?" he wasn't betraying any emotion except for wariness. I sighed and answered back.

"Shlomi is a wild one." Then I went to mother, who gasped when my face caught the dim light.

"Tell me what happened," she demanded, then hurriedly picked up a rubbery plastic bag and threw some ice from the freezer into it. She then washed the rubbery bag in ice cold water from the bleached metal sink and motioned me forward to be treated. What Shlomi did, was probably worse than I've imagined.

When he had thrown those punches at me, they barely hurt. I could only feel the adrenaline pumping through my veins, the strength of my muscles when I smashed him easily to the wall. It was then that I started to acknowledge adrenaline's motive, and use it as an advantage.

Mother started to gently rub the place where I was hit with the piece of ice cold rubbery plastic, whilst Daniel came over to get a good look. He too, gasped when he saw me, but when I glanced at him I understood that he wasn't concerned or sad, his face was full of wonder. Maybe he was awed by my ability not to cry - I didn't cry because it didn't hurt at all, but they didn't know that -, maybe not.

With that same soft light brown, almost dark blonde, hair, unkempt like mine, he looked a bit like how I used to look like when I was his age. When I was eleven, I was the same height and weight as him. But with him being less muscular, less athletic, more-innocent looking and still having baby fat around his cheeks and under his chin, he seemed so much younger than eleven.

There were some other physical appearances that made us look more like brothers and less like twins. My brother had blue eyes, not brown like mine, I was taller and a bit darker looking than him, having browned skin, whilst his skin was fairer, lighter.

Mother had light brown hair and dazzling hazel eyes, which had begun to become wary throught they years.

"What'd he do?" Daniel asked, his bright blue eyes still wide with wonder.

"Punched me," I answered halfheartedly.

"Then why do you have two bruises?" he insisted, I really did have two bruises, one under my eye and one below my right ear. Now I knew why he was so awed. His eyes were full of wonder that somebody, even the thin Shlomi, could make me bruise. I rolled my eyes at that. Apparently Daniel wanted to hear for himself that Shlomi beat me up. That, of course, was untrue, because in a fair fight I would've had Shlomi at my mercy. But I would never have fought Shlomi, not even in a fair fight.

I didn't take his bait, I didn't even budge.

"Because he punched me twice," I hedged.

Daniel gave up, sighed, then said, "Why?"

"Because he thought I thought he wasn't capable of handling Erik," I answered, not knowing how to break it to them about him deporting himself.

"Why did he take it so seriously?" Daniel inquired, confused.

"He took it seriously because," I sighed and continued when all of them, even mother was holding the bag still, looking at me expectantly, "because," I sighed again, deeper this time," because he wants to send a letter requesting to be deported with his Ma and Erik."

Mother gasped; father suspired an ever deeper sigh than the one I took; but Daniel's eyebrows knitted together, shaping into a confused frown. How much I knew that look. Whenever Daniel or I was confused our eyebrows would form that familiar shape whilst we will try to understand what's going on.

Apparently Daniel just couldn't grasp what I was telling him. He couldn't wrap his mind around the concept that his best friend's older brother (or his older brother's best friend, whichever way you put it) will go to Auschwitz and never come back.

He couldn't visualize his best friend's younger brother, only six, being murdered by some German kid's dad or uncle. The poor boy will maybe be brutally killed out in the open, watched by a policeman who will do nothing after it was done.

Hushed to silence by the police who would lie and say it was an accident. Or maybe they won't even bother to send a letter to the boy's home. Shot or strangled or burned alive. No one will absolutely be sure what had happened to him except for the fact that he went to Auschwitz and never came back. One of these things will happen to this little boy with dimples and innocent brown eyes. Poisoned or suffocated or starved.

Maybe it was because nature was protecting Daniel from the truth. I would personally think it would be better if I was a child when all this happened, that I wouldn't know the truth. Then, maybe, nature could have saved my mind, and Shlomi's, from the brutal, merciless truth too.

I didn't want to break the truth to him. Didn't want to be the one who would cause him pain and steal away his childhood, making him visualize all those horrible things that have happened back then. But of course I had to tell him, we all had to sometime, and who would have told him the truth if I wasn't there to tell him?

"What? I don't get it," he questioned and, dumbfounded, admitted the already-known truth. Poor Daniel, so young, so innocent and already he is pushed out of his childhood by just a couple of sentences.

I caught father's eye and silently pleaded him to do it. But of course I had to be the one to do it. Why? Anon that night, when we both were alone, he told me that this was one of the things only an older sibling could tell to their younger sibling.

"Daniel, Shlomi is going to go with Erik and his Ma to Auschwitz," I told him as carefully as possible, trying to compose myself so my voice won't break, but of course it did.

"So?" he hesitantly asked right after he thought it over, again. He knew something was wrong but not sure what it was. His childhood tried to protect him as much as possible but his burning curiosity won the furious battle between innocence and knowledge, childhood and adulthood, life and death. I hated myself for doing this to him. I wanted innocence to win. But if it will, then death will too.

"So, they're not coming back." I painfully went on, then added, "They won't be able to."

"Why? What does that mean?" Was it really just his childhood or himself, knowing, unconsciously, that he didn't want to know? That it were better if he was left in the dark.

But, it's like when people see a horror film. You know something terrible is going to transpire, and so you sit transfixed, holding your breath, waiting for the inevitable to happen**.**

This, exactly, is the same situation. I could tell that he held his breath then, and saw him stand, rock still, until I told him, rather much as emotionless as when a grey man talks to grey stone, the horrible truth.

"They won't make it; they'll be murdered in cold blood."

I heard Daniel letting out his held breath in one long, ragged movement of his throat, swirling out of his mouth and into the stiff air. As if the air was waiting for something else to occur. I could almost hear the click in his brain when he understood what I meant.

"Oh," one tear slid down from his eye to his chin. Two more followed the first but only I saw these because, right when they fell and before Daniel could take another breath, mother ran over to him and squeezed him with one of her loving hugs, muttering on and on as if it will never end, "My baby, my baby, it's fine, it'll be fine, fine, fine." Mother wasn't a big lady, but she used to be bigger than Daniel, of yore.

He hugged back and then turned to look at me, as if waiting for permission for something. I kept on looking at him, but I couldn't remember what emotion was betraying me. Was it fear? Was it sadness? Was it anguish? Was it uselessness? Or was it emotionless, just as my voice?

Whatever he found must've been written all over my face, because then he hugged mother again by the waist and began to cry openly, piercing the stiff air. Mother started to sob a bit too, if I remember correctly.

I couldn't just watch them without crying myself. So, before a tear could appear, I turned my back on them and went to sit on the carpet next to father. He looked at me briefly with his deep brown eyes, burning from some emotion I couldn't recognize (and yet, 'til this day I do not know what he felt erewhile), he then looked at the embracing couple and said gravely, "Dvora, Jakob's bruise is hurting again, he told me."

I quickly looked up at him, confusion and surprise radiating from my eyes, for I had not told him a thing. At that brief moment that he looked back at me I think I imagined him say, "To keep him strong," but I can never be sure. He never said a word.

Daniel looked at me, tear-welled, and, embarrassed, darted upstairs, as. _Why should he be embarrassed?_ I thought to myself, _if I were him, it would not even cross my mind to ask permission from my older brother to cry_. Well at least it's a good thing he grew up and started to think for himself.

Mother told me to come so she could wipe my bruise once more, when I turned to catch father's eye again. He seemed to tell me to go with it so I did, for father. I inwardly scoffed at the fact that people actually rub bruises with ice. _If it doesn't bleed, you shouldn't take care of it._

My mother fussed over the bruises and made sure Daniel (who came an hour late for dinner, tear-welled and sad) and I ate dinner, until late evening when the sky was a deep dark blue and the stars started to shine. I told her them that I was tired, and exited to my bedroom.

I sobbed soundlessly that night. _Shlomi, what are we going to do with you? You better come back safe and sound. Why do you do this to yourself? Do you want to get killed?_ I kept on thinking these unanswerable questions to myself that night. Until, tear after tear, I gave up thinking and patiently waited for unconsciousness to take hold of me.

_**So? How was it? This one is longer than the other two, I just wanted you to understand a bit about Henree and Stefan before I start the action. By the way I'll ask again, can you help me find them a last name? It needs to be German and Jewish, Jewish American names work too (because a lot of Jews moved to America after WW2) Review! Feed the poor dawg a bone! The quote was used for effect on the chapter, would you like a quote for every chapter? Or should I just stick to my usual style? REVIEW!**_

_Translations:_

_1__We're very sorry, let us get the real papers.(In German)_

_2__Let's go.(In German)_


	4. And There We Sat

**I am sorry! It's just that with all the homework and exams are coming up I just can't keep up! So (finally) the fourth chapter. It is sort of a fill-in chapter, really short :(. I'm working on the next chpater. There's gonna be some action (finally) coming up! Watch out! Reveiw! Please Reveiw! Give the poor dog a bone!**

**Jakob**

**September, 1941**

When Daniel and I reached the marketplace, forged identification papers (with our pictures, taken in a room where we found a camera and then used grey sheets to cover the walls) in hand, Henree was there, casually leaning on a cemented wall, next to where a small old man wearing an unwashed newsboy cap was selling red apples. I couldn't spot Stefan. Was he telling the Germans that there are jews in Frankfurt? Ok, maybe I'm a bit too paranoid. But who wouldn't be?

**Daniel**

**August, 1936**

I'm worried. Where are they now? Are they in Russia? With Uncle Avraham? Did they move to America? Or Palestine? Or are they still in Germany, like us? When will I see them? When will they contact us?

It's been a year since they left, well, since Shlomi, Dave's brother left with Erik and his Ma, Rita. Oh Shlomi! Tell me where they are! I miss them both terribly, but won't tell my ma because she'll start crying again, just like the first day they left. A year is a very long time for someone to leave and never contact home.

David, is far worse off. Shlomi, Erik and his Ma Rita are separated from him. Dave and his father, grieving and praying for them to be alive, it's not right...

My Ma and I are both doing the same for Jan, Jakob, Rita, Erik and Shlomi. We're praying for them to still be alive and that they are together. I hope they will all come back in one piece. I love them all, even though Shlomi, Rita and Erik aren't my real family. Ever since Hitler, we became as close as bees in a beehive.

Shortly after Rita's, Erik's and Shlomi's departure, Jakob came to me at school and told me cryptically, "Don't come looking for us, Daniel. Tell David not to go either. If you don't want to not do it, think of me. Don't do it for my sake. I want you to be safe." Whilst he spoke, he took hold of my forearm and gently steered me away of hearing range from random passersby.

"Don't ask stupid questions to anybody, I mean anybody. Don't talk unless they tell you to and don't tell them the truth. Truth is only told to family, understand? Family comes first. Always.

"Never say too much or they will know that you are lying." He patted my hair down and fixed my blazer's collar.

"Dan, I love you. Tell mother that too. I love you both so much."

I tried to speak, ask him what is going on, but he ignored me by hugging me tightly in one of his bear-crushing hugs so I could barely breathe. I don't think he did it on purpose, but if he did, it was to shut me up. The hug was brief; I could tell he was in a hurry. Then he pecked me on the forehead, like when parents kiss their kids goodnight. Before I could respond, he darted down the corridor and, before I knew it, out of sight.

I stared at the place where he disappeared and blinked repeatedly several times. Before I could react and start to follow, the bell went off and children pushed and hustled along the corridors, shoving me especially. I didn't even register them. I was only rethinking his speech over in my head, and why it had to be done while I was in school.

After school, I dashed home. I knew something was going on and I wanted to stop it. But when I got there, it was too late.

I darted past the hall and into the living room. When I passed the counter, I saw Ma. She was a wreck. Crying her eyes out and moaning repeatedly, "No, no, no," was killing me. She was holding her head in her hands, barely registering that I was there with her. She crouched down on a footstool that was situated underneath the sink.

I couldn't stay there. I had to make sure. If I went and sat with her then I would never have lived with myself. I had to make sure they had already left.

I swiftly ran up the stairs, three at a time. I banged Jakob's bedroom door open. It was empty. _No._ I banged our parents' bedroom. Empty. _No, God, please, have mercy._ I couldn't believe it. I banged the bathroom door open. _No, no, no._ Ruti's room. _No._ Aliza's. _No. No, no, no, no. Please no! _

Downstairs I went, banging open every door I passed, praying for a miracle. Through the hall and down the stairs. The basement. _No._ Upstairs, outside and to the right. The garage. _No. It's over._

Finally, when I opened all the empty rooms, I walked slowly back to the kitchen. I sat on the tiled floor next to Ma and hugged her. She hugged me back, burrowing her face in my left shoulder, crying, bawling her eyes out.

There we sat, for what seemed like centuries. It could have been a minute, an hour or a whole day for all I cared. But I didn't move and so didn't she.

She cried and cried. I didn't. I knew she was borrowing some strength from me so I had to show her I had some. I hugged her and waited for her to finish her crying and toughen up again.

I was the man now. I couldn't cry like Ma. _I have to take care of her, and I will._

So there we sat, me waiting patiently for her to finish her crying and her waiting for them to come back. I knew they won't, so I didn't budge or try to lie to her by telling her they will. I didn't speak at all. The only sound coming from the kitchen was her whimpering. I comforted her as best as I could, soothing her with my presence.

And there we sat, both waiting for different things, watching as the sky began to darken.


	5. Max, Lukas, Jan, Frederick and Bruno

_**I am soooooooo sorry for not updating for like a year! So I'll make it up for you [whoever wants to still read this :(] I'll update tomorrow as well, ok? Promise. For now though, enjoy the chapter!**_

**Jakob's POV**

**September 1941**

"Hi Max!" Henree called me. "Should we get going?"

"Where's Jan?" I couldn't believe they would dare use my father's name for a fake identity after all that had happened.

When they told me Stefan was going to use his name I exploded with anger. Pure rage that even lions couldn't muster. I jumped on Stefan for a hit; he was the smaller of the two so I could easily handle myself in a fight with him. But before I could fire my punch, Henree somehow grasped both of my arms in one of his huge, muscular hands and, with a menacing stare, spat through his teeth, "You'll never, ever try to touch Stefan again. Understand?" The air was so thick, I swear, you could've sliced it with a butter knife.

Bruno, Henree's German Shepherd jumped around and started howling from all the tension in the room. "Shut it, Bruno!" Henree warned and Daniel rushed to calm him down, so no one will hear him and call some soldiers to sort it out. Bruno whined a bit, but didn't fully calm down, and started to squirm against Daniel's petting.

I was alarmed by how fast Henree's demeanor turned poisonous. He wasn't the cheeriest fellow I've ever met but I wasn't expecting _that_. He was seriously overprotective over Stefan; like a brother. But they weren't, were they? They said they met a few years ago and no one can connect emotionally as quickly as they did. Can you? Maybe they _were_ brothers? Oh, who knows?

I was rudely interrupted from my musings when Stefan shouted at Henree to let me go.

I could tell he was squeezing way too hard since my arms started to form bruises and that my blood circulation was cut off. It didn't hurt, but it started to itch real bad. My body is really messed up. It has serious issues if I can't feel any pain.

My arms began to feel numb when Henree suddenly let me go, emotionless. As if someone switched him off. He looked downwards. Stefan shook his head a bit and put his hand firmly on Henree's shoulder, as if restraining him.

"Henree, please apologize to Jakob, he and Daniel are here to help."

"Did Jakob help you by trying to punch you? Did he?" He replied in a monotone, looking up, even though just behind that thin line, anger was boiling inside him.

"It's because we offended his father, Henree. You would have done the exact same thing. Don't you think so? Let's say a loved one is gone and two people you just met try to use it as a tool to illegally escape the country, wouldn't you be mad? Wouldn't you try to avenge their beloved name? Wouldn't you?"

"Yes," Henree reluctantly replied and looked downwards again, sounding much like a child getting caught doing something naughty.

"Then apologize, Henree." Stefan sounded much like a teacher try to resolve conflict between two meddling boys in the playground. I almost laughed. Almost. He gently shrugged Stefan's hand off his shoulder and took a curious step towards me, his intentions benign.

"I'm sorry Jakob," sincerity in his voice. He looked up. He was such an actor. A great one as a matter of fact, because he sounded sincere, but when observed closely, under a magnifying glass, his eyes shine warning. As if saying, _even you, my friend, won't dare to touch him. Otherwise-_

I broke the stare by looking down at Daniel, soothing Bruno. He loved animals so much, it simply shone through him.

To break the restrained tension, to resolve conflict and to be on better terms with Henree, I replied, "I forgive you, Henree and I am, too, sorry for my behavior." Surprise shot through both of them, as if they never expected forgiveness, or an apology. Stefan's eyebrows shot up until they blended with his hair and Henree's nose seemed to twitch in astonishment.

"I was just," I began searching for a harmless word, I didn't want to seem too harsh, even though I was really _furious_ about what they did, "_upset_ when I heard you were going to be using my father's name." I accidentally spit the words, _upset_ and _name_, without meaning to. I sucked at acting.

"Apology forgiven," Stefan waved his hand as if it was all behind us and that it didn't matter anymore. Henree nodded, finally agreeing with Stefan. He went to talk to Daniel about Bruno - his way of finally letting it go; for now.

As if Stefan was reading my mind, he went by my side and whispered to my ear, "We need to stick together, Henree, Daniel, you and me. I'm not sure if he will try anything again after this little stunt." He motioned to what just happened. "I mean we are supposed to be allies, not enemies. But nonetheless, watch your back, because next time, maybe even I won't be able to stop him."

He didn't try to sound ominous, but I felt a chill run through my spine.

I nodded, confirming that I registered what he was saying. Jakob Goldberg might be a good boy from now on - might, highly unlikely - only if they will. If they try to stab us in the back, I swear, I will hunt them down. No more innocent Jakob. Innocence disappeared a long, long time ago.

"Jan's at the truck. Ahh! Lukas! Nice to see you again!" He rushed up to him and, smiling all the while, he crushed him in a rib-cracking, breathtaking bear hug. Bruno was leash less, jumping around the two, bark, bark, bark. Daniel responded like a true actor, or maybe he meant it…?

"Uncle! Can't… Breathe!

"Oh, sorry boy," he ruffled Daniel's hair, hand on his shoulder. I went over and shook his hand with one and the other patted him on his back, smiling. Then I patted Bruno, squeezed his face with both of my hands and let him lick my cheek. He's just adorable, all dogs are.

"Let's get going," Henree said and prompted us to a side street, Bruno in tow, right behind us.

Walking in a relaxed manner, Henree led us down a street housing several workshops, a barber shop and a bakery. Near the bakery was a loaded drop off, green camouflage-painted truck. No doubt to take tens and hundreds pieces of bread to feed German soldiers in a base somewhere. My clenched fists began to shake violently.

Stefan was in the driver's seat, looking very businesslike and blank, he was wearing a Nazi suit. When he saw us his face didn't change. From the corner of my eye I spotted a wink. I smiled to the air, made sure he caught it.

One by one we darted under crates and around boxes so that no one will notice that there are four people plus a dog tagging along, way too many people for a food truck to be carrying.

After Daniel was safely in the back seat of the truck I opened the door for Bruno to jump up back and I followed. Henree soon followed and sat in the passenger's seat, next to Stefan.

The truck was cramped. The air that was trapped inside was sweaty and stifling, slightly smelling of manly body odour and cigarette smoke. I could barely breathe, the smell lingered in the back of my throat and I started to feel nausea in the pit of my stomach. The leather seats were so worn out that the colored faded into a light shade of grey and started to peel in some spots, showing big pieces of yellow fluff that itched if rubbed against bare skin. The metal wheel was rusty and bred a color of rough brownish-red. Alcohol was thick in the air and half a dozen beer bottles and cans were scattered around, as if in decoration.

I gagged.

From the corner of my eye, I saw a man in his underwear. He was tied up and gagged, a look of mortification on his face, his eyes bulging from their sockets. He was under one of the seats so people from the outside of the car wouldn't be able to see him.

I smirked at him and questioned Stefan, "Your handiwork or Henree's?"

Stefan smiled, "Mine. I know how to take care of myself thank you very much."

I kicked the hostage in the face and chuckled, "Very nice, I just might enjoy myself Jan and Frederick." I let the Jan thing pass, for now, and watched the blood beginning to ooze from the wound I gave the hostage's battered face.

Henree tried to stay composed, serious, but, maybe, just maybe, Daniel and I will be just fine with these two. Maybe we'll even become close friends.

Stefan had a huge smile plastered on his face. Daniel immediately followed suit and with a, "Let's get this thing on the road!" from me, we were off.

_**So? How'd you like it? I know it's weird that suddenly they have a dog but I really wanted Henree and Stefan to have one so here he is! Bruno! Ugh I love him...! R&R! PLEASE!**_


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